


Ex's and Oh's

by mapleandmahogany



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: American Sign Language, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, SkywalkerHand!Coulson, after age of ultron before AoS S3, captain america isn't grumpy he's just worried okay, casual nudity, director dad, healthy discussion of exes, not ca:cw compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/pseuds/mapleandmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was embarrassing to be the Avenger who always got kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ex's and Oh's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clint_Coulson_Exchange_2015](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Clint_Coulson_Exchange_2015).



> This was written for the prompt request: Coulson comes back into Clint’s life, mcu/fraction!hawkguy
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Remember, it is actual comics canon that Clint and Coulson give each other comforting hugs._

~

It was embarrassing to be the Avenger who always got kidnapped.

Rescue was on its way, Clint could tell. Or at least something dramatic was happening. 

Whatever their plan for him had been, Clint guessed it was falling apart because he’d been feeling the pounding of running footfalls through the floor, and the percussive force of gunfire, for several minutes.

His hearing aids had been taken, so he was lying on the floor where it met the metal wall of the of the completely windowless and black room he was locked in, but he could feel movement outside.

“C’mon,” Clint muttered, letting himself feel hopeful about rescue. When he couldn’t feel any movement for a minute he got worried. 

“Come on!” he shouted, unable to hear himself, and twisted to kick his heel against the wall. “Hey! I’m in here! Hey!”

When the door opened he was flooded with fresh air and bright light.

Clint sat up, shielding his eyes and squinting at the doorway, trying to make out the silhouette that looked distantly familiar. He pushed himself to a sit as best as he could with his wrists bound together.

The shadowed figure took a few steps closer. It was male and he wasn’t dressed in a tracksuit, so not one of the goons he assumed had nabbed him. He wasn’t wearing a bodysuit or armor, so not an Avenger. 

When the light finally fell across the man’s face, Clint flinched and flung himself back against the wall, his bound hands held up in defense.

“What the?!” Clint had no idea how loud he might be shouting.

“It’s okay! No, no. I … to … you.” The man was speaking, and also pointed at himself, tapped his fists together and pulled them apart, with his pinkie finger curled high, then pointed at Clint. 

_I. Save. You._ he signed, with one stiff, gloved hand not flexing enough to be quite right. 

Then he waved ‘hi’.

Because he was wearing Phil Coulson’s face, and using sign, which Phil Coulson had learned just for Clint, and had in fact, just burst into the black box that Clint had been locked in, which was a very Phil Coulson sort of thing to do, Clint felt reasonably comfortable assigning him Phil Coulson’s name. 

In spite of the fact that Phil Coulson was dead.

Coulson held up his gloved hand in a stiff ‘just a moment’ gesture, then unshouldered a sizable gun and set it on the floor before pulling a tiny box from his inside his jacket containing two hearing aids.

Clint sat up completely when he saw them. He was kind of freaked out, but needed to be able to hear the explanation he was about to demand.

Coulson took a step closer but glanced at Clint’s bound wrists, paused with a frown and then reached for a pouch at his belt.

“Here, just put ‘em on!” Clint said, not hearing his own voice and scooted closer, angling his ear towards Coulson.

Coulson nodded and bent to one knee. Setting the box on the floor, he took one of the hearing aids out of the box. He paused when he made eye contact, and Clint observed the couple days of whisker growth, and the generous freckles that would have Coulson looking tanned, except that he was pale and perspiring at the moment.

Clint hadn’t yet ruled out Life Model Decoy or extreme plastic surgery, but this face was lined with worry, and so dirty-handsome, it was more like a real Phil Coulson than anything Clint’s romanticized memory would have conjured up.

Coulson’s forehead and cheekbone look freshly busted-up, which Clint assumed he’d got fighting his way to Clint’s holding cell. 

Because apparently this Phil Coulson, of all people living or dead, had come to save him.

Coulson didn’t move but the expression in his eyes asked for permission before continuing. Clint nodded and turned his head, feeling the tiny device rotate into his ear and felt his helix carefully manipulated to secure the wire into place. 

Clint raised his bound hands to touch the device as he adjusted to the sensation, and turned his head while Coulson reached for the other hearing aid.

An explosion cut through the air, sound and vibration rumbling through the building and the shaking the walls of Clint’s cell. Coulson lurched forward and curved around Clint, giving him cover, though there was nothing inside the box to fall on them. 

Clint had been touch-starved and lonely and was struck by the sensory recall of Coulson’s scent, the faint trace of a smooth, suede-y body product that probably wasn’t a hotel freebie, and the salty-warm odor of a healthy man’s sweat.

When the shock wave settled, Coulson pulled away, rubbing a thumbs-up fist in a circle against his torso. 

_Sorry_ , he signed and spoke at the same time.

The second hearing aid didn’t go in as smoothly. Coulson nearly dropped it and then tugged his ear too hard and when it finally amplified sound it was just in time to hear Coulson whisper “Damn it! Sorry,” before he got it fit correctly. “Good? Okay. Are they working?” 

“Yeah, they’re good,” Clint answered, turning his head to touch gently at both ears, feeling himself adjust his own volume as he spoke. “Okay.” He stared at Coulson. “I’m pretty sure the dirtbags tasered me from behind, and I didn’t _think_ I was drugged or brainwashed this time, but, am I dreaming?”

“That remains to be to seen.” Coulson said. “That you’ve been drugged or brainwashed, I mean! But I promise you’re not dreaming about me.” Coulson cheeks went tight. “I’m real.”

Clint reached out to touch him again, needing some reassurance of his physical presence. His hands were palm to palm where his wrists were bound but his fingers pressed against Coulson’s jawbone and then grasped at Coulson’s jacket.

“What the futz, man?”

The muscle in Coulson’s jaw flexed. Clint would never have remembered that tick, but seeing it again, confirmed for him that this was actual, real, living Phil Coulson.

Coulson put his hands over Clint’s, giving him firm and gentle assurance.

“I know. It’s so unfair that you find out this way. It’s a long story and I can explain,” Coulson said, apology in his voice as he produced a small blade. “Oh, of course it couldn’t just be rope.” Coulson grumbled at the metal wire binding Clint’s wrists. “Here, can you hold onto this?” 

Coulson fit the handle of the blade into Clint’s grip. His fingers were purpled with restricted circulation but he still had enough sensation to hold a weapon.

The real Phil Coulson would definitely give Clint a weapon.

“So, I _will_ explain,” Coulson continued. “But we should really get out of here. My team is gonna clear the building. Aggressively.”

Team?

“Okay,” Clint said, feeling dazed, and accepted Coulson’s help hauling him to his feet. 

Then a sobering thought occurred to him. “Aw, man.” He quickly raised the blade Coulson had given him, pressing the point of it against Coulson’s jugular.

Coulson froze, his eyes fixed at the ceiling, holding both hands to the side.

Clint leaned into his face, snarling through his teeth as he demanded, “Tell me you’re not Hydra!”

Coulson remained still but his eyes slid sideways to meet Clint’s. “I am not Hydra. I swear. How could y—you know me! Better than most.” 

“I _used to_ have a friend who looked like you.”

Coulson looked lost for a moment and huffed. 

“This was all Fury’s doing.” He waved a hand in vague explanation of his living body, then shrugged. “And also some alien stuff.” 

Nick Fury plus alien stuff, was a fairly compelling combination in Clint’s experience. Plus, he hadn’t met anyone in Hydra yet that wasn’t proud as punch to confess it. _Hail_ , bullshit.

He pulled the knife back just a hair and nodded at Coulson’s left hand, with its stiff, unnatural quality.

“Yeah, this is...” Coulson broke eye contact then, and lowered his hand in an attempt at hiding it, like he was embarrassed. “It’s from something else. More recent.”

Clint nodded. Again, not entirely unshocking in their lives. “Sorry. Had to check.”

Coulson nodded. “Understandable. So, we really should—”

“Wait! Don’t you want to know if _I’m_ Hydra?” Clint asked. 

Coulson’s whole demeanor softened. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a little bit, and he shook his head. 

“No. That was never a question for me. When it all came out, and we didn’t know who to trust, and,” Coulson paused and gentle reached to put his hands on Clint’s arms again. “I never wondered that about you.”

And that still meant something to Clint, that Coulson never questioned his character, not because of what he’d done before SHIELD hired him, or because of what Loki had made him do, or even when half the people they’d worked with turned out to be Hydra.

“I coulda been,” he said.

Coulson did smile then. “No. Not you.”

Clint would have liked to think he was made of sterner stuff, but he’d been tasered and kidnapped and kept in solitary confinement and was trying to process the possibility that his friend was really alive and without thinking about it, he shoved himself into Coulson’s chest, forehead smashing into his shoulder. He was careful not to jab Coulson with the knife but he pressed close, letting Coulson give him a firm hug while he took a moment to compose himself.

The goon squad had taken his clothes and had left him in only his sleeveless Under Armour shirt and boxers, and mismatched socks. One solid black, and one black with purple toe.

At least he wasn’t naked this time, that had happened before, but the thermal wear was still form-fitting. He’d been clammy-warm, hungry, and his head hurt, but now he was getting cold with the rush of fresh air over his skin and knew he’d be getting a case of the shakes before too long, either because of the temperature or from mild shock and dehydration. 

He supposed it was just as well that he didn’t have his bow and arrow to shoot.

Scratch that, he should never have left the building without it.

“How’d you know I needed hearing aids?” Clint said, muffled into Coulson’s chest. “How’d you know someone nabbed me? How—?” 

“Barton, I’ll answer all your questions but let’s get out of here first.”

“Didn't happen to see my pants laying around anywhere, did you?”

“Sorry. At least you're not naked this time?”

Clint snorted. 

“I’d offer my jacket but I don’t think it’d fit.” Coulson had his hands on Clint’s arm and gave his bicep a squeeze.

“S’okay. Looks good on you.” The words were out of Clint’s mouth before he’d realized what he said. Clint only remembered Coulson wearing suits, but this rugged tac version of him was totally acceptable.

Coulson might have been hiding a smirk when he turned and picked up his giant gun and led the way out the door. He kept one arm outstretched towards Clint, gloved fingers just trailing his arm. 

“The people who took you initially were remnants of gang that apparently you’ve had a personal conflict with?” Coulson said in a hushed voice as he cleared the exit. Clint followed closely with the knife clutched high between his bound hands. 

“Yeah. I kicked a gang out of my building. There was a whole...Thing.”

“Usually is.”

See, Coulson always understood about _Things_.

They emerged into a large, half demolished and abandoned industrial kitchen. Clint turned around to see that he’d been locked inside the old walk-in freezer.

“Are you kidding me?” Clint said. “I was in a futzing freezer? God, that’s embarrassing.”

“At least it wasn’t actually freezing?” Coulson said. “When you think about it, it was a pretty good holding cell for you. Anything less and I’m sure you’d have escaped.”

“Yes, praise my kidnappers some more, why don’t you?”

“Sorry. I think they only managed to get you because they had Hydra’s help.”

“Hydra’s after me?”

“In general, maybe? But this incident specifically, probably not. It turns out those upstanding gentlemen that you evicted are trying to raise their status in the world by joining up with a reorganizing Hydra faction, which is now under the leadership of one of my former agents, Grant Ward."

"Ward? Was he Garrett's kid?"

“Not a kid anymore. Followed Garrett right into Hydra.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at him. “Garrett? Yeah, that’s gonna be a helluva story."

“It is,” Coulson agreed. “So, I think they were going to try to sell you to Ward and then he would ransom you, or something. But he’s delusional, so there’s no telling. We keep tabs on him, and when Hill contacted me that you went missing, we noticed the activity around him.” 

Coulson cleared the kitchen exit, one hand supporting his shouldered gun, the other still on Clint, but he reached up to touch his comm. “Hawkeye acquired. We’re coming out the back exit.” He turned back to Clint. “I came in the front, but it’s not far this way.”

“Where are we?”

“Newark. Downtown.”

The exited the building into biting wind. Piles of muddy, slushy snow still lingering in the shadow against the building. 

There were agents in full gear, covering both side of the the exit and a van waiting straight ahead with the side door open. 

“They’re mine,” Coulson said, when he felt Clint slow down. “We’re okay.”

“Who’s _they_? _What’s_ yours?”

“They, are SHIELD agents. And they work for me. The Director. Um, of SHIELD. Me.”

Clint was about to say ‘no fucking way’ but really, this wasn’t a huge a surprise. 

“God damn spies,” he muttered.

Coulson shrugged a little bit. “Fair enough.”

He nodded Clint towards the van when Clint spotted one of the tracksuit goons on his knees with his hands behind his head.

“Hold up,” Clint said. “Bastard has my shoes!”

He kneed the clown in the face and when he fell over, Clint yanked the shoes off of him, clutching them to his chest. 

“You better not have athlete’s foot, asshole!”

Coulson was waiting patiently by the van, no trace of judgement on his face, but Clint still felt sheepish. “They’re limited edition Hawkeye series. They made a color called _Hawkeye purple_. He can’t have them.”

“Damn right,” Coulson said, waving Clint inside, climbed into the van with him.

That had always been the thing with Coulson, he didn’t make Clint feel like an idiot for being emotional or impulsive. 

“Easy now," Coulson said, gentling Clint onto a bench seat, and yanking the door shut as they started to move. "How’d we do?" he asked the agent in the driver’s seat, his tone of voice decisively more authoritative than when he spoke to Clint.

"Building is clear. Two dead. Briggs is staying to detain Hydra, and turn the goons over to the local police." The driver spoke with an accent and cast a quick look back at Clint and nodded. 

“Sir.”

Clint acknowledged the deference with a nod and an awkward salute with both index fingers.

“That’s Agent Fitz,” Coulson said. “Now, for starters, let’s take care of this.” Coulson had already produced a multi-tool from a go-bag and he snipped the fiber-wire from around Clint’s wrists. 

“Oh, my _god_ , that feels good!” Clint said, stretching his arms wide and rolling his shoulders. 

He realized how porny that sounded when Fitz glanced back over his shoulder.

“Uh, thanks,” he said to Coulson.

“You’re very welcome. And here.” He held out a little bottle, from which he sprayed a light mist onto the pink, abraded skin on his wrists.

It was cool and tingling and he couldn’t keep himself from moaning again. 

“Ugh. It’s so good.”

Coulson’s face was pinking up as Clint moaned and rubbed his wrists. 

“It keeps medical happy with me, when I do field treatment.”

The van jerked again as they abruptly turned to the left and the momentum flung him somewhat side-ways and into Coulson.

He let out an entirely un-heroic “oomph!” but couldn’t bring himself to apologize. Coulson held him steady through the turn and then eased him back into his seat as the van braked to a stop.

“This is our ride. It’s my plane. It’s called Zephyr One,” Coulson said. He re-shouldered his weapon and the go-bag, but waited for Clint to look out the windows, and decide if he wanted to get on that plane.

Clint had inconceivable Stark tech and aircraft at his disposal with the Avengers, but this plane was the epitome of SHIELD, and he was struck with nostalgia for the agency that had once taken him in and been his home.

“I’m assuming you’ve got no snakes on your plane?”

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “Hydra? I’m as certain as it is possible to be. Now that I know they even exist.”

That was about as good of assurance as it was possible to get.

The van door opened and they walked directly up the loading ramp, joined by more agents from a second car.

Someone brought a blanket but stood next to him awkwardly for a moment before Coulson sighed and put it over Clint’s shoulders himself. He clutched the edges of it with his fingers still holding his shoes, looking around. 

The last few days had been a lot. He’d been kidnapped right off of Quincy in front of his building. He’d been confined in the dark and his hearing taken away, nearly starved for two days and then out of the blue rescued by one of his best dead friends who also remained the biggest unrequited crush of his life—who still happened to look damn good.

Clint was generally a one-feeling-at-a-time kind of guy, but right now there were several feelings competing for top billing. 

Coulson was saying something, about calling something? But Clint wasn’t processing any of it. It must have shown on his face because Coulson stopped talking and moved closer, signing and saying, “you okay?” 

Clint reached out, dropping his shoes and the blanket and hugged Coulson with all he had. Coulson held him right back, or held him up maybe, he was feeling watery in the knees.

“I’m so mad at you,” he whispered.

“I understand.”

“But you came for me.”

“As soon as I could.”

“We’re still gonna talk about this.”

“I promise.”

“Okay. I think I need to sit down.”

He was woozy and felt like he heard an uptick in the voices around him, or maybe it was just the sound of blood pounding in his ears. 

Coulson pulled Clint’s arm over his shoulder and supported him to a small triage room with a gurney. Not his favorite location, but definitely preferred over hitting the ground when he passed out. 

“Don’t leave,” he said, feeling a little bit like Coulson might turn out to still be dead, or just a dream, but it probably sounded more of an emotional and desperate plea than he intended. 

Coulson just said, “I won’t,” and stayed close while an IV line was placed in Clint’s arm. 

“Yeah, yeah. Fluids. I know the drill,” he told to the young English doctor talking to him. Why were doctors getting so young these days? She was old enough to be a doctor and yet definitely too young to flirt with. 

He didn’t want her to think he was having a stroke or something, so he was sure to mutter, “I’m just gonna pass out for a minute.”

And he did.

 

He woke up aware of the distant droning sound of being in-flight.

“How long?” Clint asked, finding his voice as he opened eyes. 

“About an hour and forty-five minutes,” Coulson said, approaching with a cup and straw.

“You’re still here.”

“I said I would be. Not feeling as faint? You look better, now that you’re hydrated. You still need sleep and sustenance, I bet.”

“Yeah. Sorry if I was weird before,” Clint said, taking a drink. 

He remembered the hugging. It had been pretty full-on body contact, too, especially with him in his underwear.

“Not at all. Jemma, that’s Doctor Simmons, said you could have this, if you feel up to it.”

Clint made grabby hands for the foil pouch, recognizing it as a high-cal protein drink. It wouldn’t taste particularly good, but it was familiar, and would get the doc closer to okaying solid food. 

“We’re still in the air,” he said, between sucking down gulps.

“We are. I have agents that need to return to base, but we can take you wherever you want: New York, Avengers compound upstate, or maybe the farm?”

“Laura’s farm?” Clint shook his head, mouth still on his drink. “No. Hm-mm. You owe me a story. You promised.”

Coulson’s eyes did that happy glow thing, without smiling. “Would you like to come back to the base? With me?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. Um, do you mind?” He asked, as he perched to sit on the edge of the gurney. “I’ve updated Hill with your status and she’s let the Avengers know.”

“So Hill knows you’re alive?”

“She knew about me before I knew about me.” 

Coulson held up a hand and shook his head. Story for a later time. 

“She said they were chasing leads on you, various high profile threats against the Avengers, but when she clued-in that the culprits were uh, related to some of our loose ends here, she contacted me. We’ve become pretty good at keeping a low profile and the Avengers didn’t need the publicity they’d draw raining destruction on downtown Newark to get you.”

Clint closed his eyes and let his head thump back. He was kidnapped by such amateur low-rent goons, they weren’t even worth his own team’s effort to go after him. “Yeah, be dumb to waste their time.”

“Hey, no. You were hit from behind, on your home turf. And guessing by the hour, you hadn’t even had coffee yet.”

“Some superhero, huh?”

“You are every bit the superhero. You can’t be blamed that a Hydra sniper hit you with an I.C.E.R. gun.”

“A what? You mean, it wasn’t a taser?”

Phil shook his head. “An incapacitating weapon, could have been seventy yards away. A SHIELD development, but we think a Hydra traitor probably took one. I’m so sorry. We feel responsible.”

“No, but this is good. I thought I must be slipping if I’d let someone get that close to me. So I bet Hill’s in hot water, huh?”

Coulson winced a sympathetic nod.

“I gather the Avengers _and_ Stark Industries are not happy that she’s withheld information about SHIELD still existing,” Phil said.

“And _you_ still existing. They rallied when you died. They felt like they let you down. You inspired them.”

Clint scrubbed his face with his palm, because he wasn’t even starting with how he’d felt about Coulson’s death.

“I…” Coulson floundered. “She, Hill, said they’re anxious to hear from you. They’ve been worried.”

“Aw, damn.” He took breath, letting the subject change. “Yeah, okay. Do I look beat to hell?”

“No. You look really good,” Coulson said, giving Clint a long once over. “Just, you look fine.” He stood up quickly and busied himself with setting up the video monitor. Clint wiped at his face, wondering if he had something in his nose or something and Coulson just didn’t want to tell him.

“So, I’ll just step outside...”

“Could you, could you stick around?” He felt a little foolish, but he still didn’t want Coulson to go away and he also felt strange talking to the Avengers all by himself. He hated being a burden and was feeling stupidly fragile.

“I...yeah? I’ll just stay out of view, though. That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have yet.” 

Clint nodded and waited for Coulson to take a seat on the stool next to the gurney, and then touched the screen to engage the call.

“Barton!” Cap said. “Good to see you!” 

He joined by Stark on the screen. 

“Hey, Cap. Stark. Sorry for all the trouble, guys.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. It was dumb. Guess I got careless.”

“You were ambushed,” Cap said.

“Yeah, but—”

“Could have happened to any of us, buddy,” Stark agreed. “We’re not gonna let it—”

Stark glanced off screen and then quickly backed out of view and Cap looked briefly flummoxed before taking a step back, and then Bucky Barnes’ whole face took over the screen peering closely back at Clint. 

“Oh. Hey, Barnes,” Clint said. 

“Barton. _Status_ ,” he ordered, leaving no room for bullshit. 

“I'm okay now, man. Just a bump on the head, bruised around the wrists. Got dehydrated and pretty hungry. They kept me in the dark without my hearing aids, the bastards. But that’s all. They didn’t. You know. They didn’t do anything else.” 

No one else wanted to ask, but Barnes was asking about torture and all manner of abuse that he knew too much about.

Clint scratched the back of his head, making his bruised wrists visible, but he also gave his ear a subtle tug. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coulson observe the gesture, but he didn’t say anything. He was gaping at the screen.

“But, yeah, so an old friend got me out. I got a doc looking me over. Bad guys are dead or locked up, I’m told. ‘S’all good now.”

Barnes stared at him for another moment, nodded, and moved out of frame, leaving Cap looking after him, huffing a little, having lost some of his authoritative bluster.

“We’re all glad to hear you’re okay,” Cap said to Clint, still looking off screen after Barnes. “We were looking for you. I hope you know that. But it turns out, our inside intel diverted us.” 

“Appreciate it, Cap. Take it easy on Hill, huh? She’s always right, you know?”

Cap laughed a loud hah sound and rolled his eyes, nodding.

“Ah, unless you need something, I'm going to take a little time. You know?” 

“Of course. Take a few days, whatever you need. Feel better. We’ll meet up soon.” Cap’s tone changed lower, with less inflection. “You know we’re all going to want to hear more about this old friend.”

Clint nodded, giving him a casual salute and logged off. There was no pretense that Cap hadn’t intended for Coulson to hear that last part. Subtlety wasn’t Cap’s strong suit, so he let his bluntness be the point.

After the video feed blinked out, Clint faced Coulson.

“That, was James Bucky Barnes,” Coulson said, stating the fact with open awe. 

Clint grinned. “Yeah. You knew about him, right? About all that?”

Coulson nodded. “I’ve been briefed on the Winter Soldier updates, yes.” 

Clint assumed Maria Hill’s work again, and mentally leveled up his already high opinion of her spy game.

“And you’re friends with him, I gather?” Phil asked. “He seemed to have some regard for you.”

“Sort of. Yeah. The guy’s working out how to be his own person again, but he’s not like any friend I’ve ever had before. He’d kind of more of a guard dog, that way? Not in a bad, you know, comparing him to a dog. He’s a person. Just, dogs are great.” Clint shook his head. Words were dumb. “We have a way between us, I guess. So friends. Yeah.”

“He’s in good company with you as a friend, then.” Coulson didn’t give Clint much of chance to enjoy the compliment before he continued. “I am sorry that Captain Rogers is so upset by SHIELD. Myself.”

“Yeah, Cap doesn’t like secrets. He takes them pretty personal.”

Coulson nodded. “I just hate to be that disappointment for him. I hope he’ll come to understand.”

“He’s got a lot on his shoulders, that guy. And he’s good for it, don’t get me wrong. No one better to be in charge, but he’s still young in a lot of ways.”

“Of course, I don’t begrudge him at all. He’s -.”

Coulson seemed like he had more to say, but stopped himself. Clint had a million questions and didn’t know where to start and the silence was getting awkward.

Coulson gave him a warm smile and held his gaze. 

“I have a small apartment quarters on base. We’ll be landing soon. Would you like to come back, get some food and rest, and do that catching up?”

“That sounds good, yeah. How about—”

“Ah, Mr. Barton. Or do you prefer Hawkeye? You look much better,” said Doctor Simmons, breezing in with all the authority of any doctor he’s ever known, not caring if she was interrupting, checking the monitor and the empty IV bag.

“You can just call me Clint, Doc. Sorry I passed out there before.”

“Not at all. You were quite dehydrated. But! Your vitals are strong now. You’re to keep up your fluid intake, very important, and eat and rest soon.”

“That’s the plan, ma’am.”

“This can go now, I think.” She patted his arm where the IV was situated. Clint watched as she removed the catheter, which she did smoothly and with skill. Clint usually found nurses were better at the task than doctors, but figured a field agent position gave her plenty of opportunity.

“There you are,” she patted his arm, pressing a cotton swab to the site and continued petting his arm. “And please, you can call me Jemma.”

“Thanks. You’re good at that.”

“Oh! It’s nothing,” she said with a giggle, and continued patting his arm.

“Yes,” Coulson said with an annoyed tone. “ _Thank you_. Agent Simmons. For your very professional care.” 

Clint looked between them, Coulson giving her a scolding look, but with nothing like the furious disappointment he was capable of giving a subordinate, and Jemma looked embarrassed and she stopped stroking Clint’s bicep. 

It dawned on him then that she was flirting? He hadn’t even realized she was flustered by who Clint was, but she and Coulson were obviously very chummy. Oh, wait, was Coulson jealous, or?

There was a knock on the door-frame. 

“Director. Hey. Sorry to interrupt.” The young agent looked at Clint but continued talking to Coulson, in an obviously fake formal tone. “We’re gonna be landing soon. Sir. And I thought you’d want to see an update on these?”

“Thank you, Agent Johnson,” Coulson said, accepting the tablet she handed him, and just as obviously, aware of her ruse. “And well, since you’re here, why don’t I introduce you to Clint Barton, who you’ll also know as—”

“—Hawkeye. Hi. I’m Daisy.”

“Just Clint, is fine, when I’m not working. Nice to meet you, Daisy.” Clint accepted her handshake and it hadn’t stopped yet.

“I’ve been a big fan. I mean, what you do, without any powers even, is just—”

“—Daisy,” Phil said.

“Just. In case you don’t hear it enough, thanks for your service, you know? Between your time at SHIELD and then saving the planet from Chitauri—”

“ _—Daisy._ ”

“Yeah, boss.”

Clint laughed a little and patted her hand before disengaging from the handshake. She was like persistent fans he’d met before but there was a sweetness to her, too. Coulson chided her with fondness though, and she wasn’t much bothered about Coulson’s authority, much like Jemma. Clint wondered who she was to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “Just do what I can, you know?”

“Yes! I do,” she answered, and Clint felt like there was more to her response that he didn’t fully understand but then there was another knock on the door frame.

“Hey, I heard there was a big shot on board!” Bobbi’s unmistakable teasing voice interrupted, as she peered into the room.

“No way!” Clint said, and was already throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up to hug her. “If it isn’t Barbara Morse Barton Morse!”

“Don’t make me electrocute you again,” Bobbi warned, with an arched eyebrow, and leaned down to kiss him on the lips. Jemma made a quiet surprised noise, but it was so normal to Clint, to meet Bobbi like this: unexpected, comforting, a little dangerous.

“Yeah. Ex-husband,” he heard Coulson mutter to Daisy and Jemma.

“I didn’t know you were with—damn, look at you,” he said, stepping back to check her out. “Beautiful as ever!” There were suitcases of dirty laundry between them, but damn it, he’d loved this woman once. She was good people. Well, she was mildly terrible, and mired in secrets sometimes, but mostly good.

“Thank you. Also, thank me, I brought you pants.” He laughed as she handed him a pair of black, standard agency sweats. “At least you weren’t naked this time.”

Bobbi understood.

“Hey, thanks, Bob. You doing okay, there?” Clint asked, nodding to indicate the brace on her knee.

“It’s coming along.”

“Are you bloody kidding me? Who brought the hillbilly rubbish in?” Clint knew Lance Hunter’s voice before he even saw him. “And big surprise, you’re in a room with my wife and have no clothes on.”

“Oh, dear,” Jemma whispered.

“This can’t end well,” Daisy said.

Clint returned Hunter’s death glare with effort. He hadn’t heard anything about Hunter, alive or dead, in years and he looked great.

“SHIELD lets in any cheap chav these days, eh?”

Hunter rolled his eyes, which turned into a grin. “That the best you got? You must be in worse shape than we thought, mate.”

He hauled Clint into a strong hug and without any more thought than Clint gave with Bobbi, let himself be kissed squarely and simply on the mouth.

“Huh,” said Daisy. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Nice that they get along,” Jemma said to Bobbi, though there was no pretense they were trying to be unheard.

“That’s what I thought,” Bobbi said, and Clint recognized the purr in her voice. “Why spend all that energy on jealousy, when everyone could play so nicely together instead?”

“Ah, geez, Bobbi,” Clint said, blushing and un-hugging Hunter, though he still kept an arm around Clint’s shoulders. 

“You are a damn legend, woman. Oh my god.”

Bobbi and Hunter both laughed.

“No worries. It’s all family right here.” Hunter gestured to the people in the room.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed, but he was still standing here in his underwear, and these ladies seemed awfully young to be hearing about his sexual exploits when they’d only just met.

He glanced at Coulson, who looked happy, but managed to keep an air of dignity about it, in spite of the joke in the room.

He had known all about it back in the day, when Clint and Bobbi were on again, off again, and somehow he and Hunter met, got drunk, talking at first about how awful Bobbi was, then about how great she was. They passed out together innocently enough, but by the end of the weekend, the three were in bed together.

“It’s ah. It’s good to see you again,” he said, and he meant it, but they weren’t _his_ family. 

Coulson had maybe been something like it, once. But his marriage to Bobbi had been short-lived, the fun that included Hunter had been even shorter. He didn’t think Coulson had even known Hunter personally back then.

Bobbi and Hunter gravitated back towards each other. He wasn’t the least bit jealous of either of them, but what they had with each other, that was envious. 

He couldn’t look at Coulson again. Clint had mourned him, missed him, but he’d just been here with this group of happy people, secretly carrying on their, his, old organization and becoming family. 

He was rapidly getting pissed again.

“Alright. Arrival in eleven minutes, people,” Coulson said. “Go do your jobs.”

Clint smiled and nodded at all their welcomes and well wishes but he was glad they were gone.

 _Family_. The word sounded bitter, even inside his own head. Coulson had just gathered new people and carried right on with life. 

Outside the triage room, he could hear the general chatter of agents at work. Coulson’s voice carrying over it all on occasion.

Clint put on the pants that Bobbi brought, and then strapped himself into a fold down chair from the wall, while the plane made its final descent. He put his shoes on, feeling a quiet, gnawing anger growing in him as the plane landed and he tied his laces with excessive force. 

“Ready?” Coulson asked, appearing in the doorway. “It’s a bit of a walk, you’ll get some of the tour on the way to my office. Sure you’re up for that right now?”

“I’m fine,” Clint said, wrapping the med blanket from the gurney around his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into a massive hangar, there was a Quinjet, another plane, helicopters, an empty bay ahead looked like it could dock a helicarrier.

“It can hold a helicarrier,” Coulson said, apparently reading his mind, as usual. “And you’re familiar with it, I believe. It was used to assist the Avengers with Sokovia.”

“Wait. Hill showed up with Fury and a god damn helicarrier. That was you?”

Coulson shrugged a little. “They had to get it from somewhere.” He looked a little proud. 

Clint was trying to be grumpy here, but sighed. “That was a helluva an assist, man. Saved our butts. Saved a lot of people.”

Coulson nodded then, but more serious. “That’s what it’s all about.”

Clint had previously wondered where all of SHIELD’s resources and facilities had gone after the collapse, but assumed they’d been absorbed by the military and government agencies. Apparently Coulson had just kept it all going. 

Clint didn’t say anything as they made their way through the base. Coulson pointed out labs, machine shops, detention cells, barracks, and training rooms. It couldn’t be ignored that a huge amount of energy, of _time_ , had gone into developing this place.

Coulson led the way up a few stairs and opened the door to his office, gesturing Clint inside.

“I know it all looks impressive now, but we were devastated at first. Most of our facilities and safe houses over-run. There were divisions of power. Funding. Funding was a disaster. Fury never had to operate with the kind of budget I have.”

Clint let out a loud growling sigh, and balled up the blanket and threw it.

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t care about SHIELD’s stupid budget.”

Coulson opened his mouth. Shut it. Then opened it again. “I’m sorry?”

“Looks like you’re doing okay to me, _Director_. You built up a whole little empire here. You’re the big boss now. And like Hunter said, you even have family, so. Like, good for you. I’m happy for you.”

Clint’s tone was literally anything but happy.

Coulson’s expression smoothed into neutral but Clint also saw upset in his eyes and was meanly glad for it. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Coulson said, his voice gone quiet.

“No? Looks like you hand picked everyone you wanted to have around. And look at this place!” Clint turned a circle, arms spread at all the memorabilia in the room. “Is there anything left on ebay?”

“I. I lost everything when I...” Coulson pursed his lips. “I prioritized my work over a personal life, and that’s on me, but I can’t believe you would begrudge what I’ve managed to scrape together. Do you have any idea how difficult it is start over at my age?”

“You think I wouldn’t have helped? I know I was compromised but I’ve been better for a long time now!”

“I wasn’t going to risk that!”

“Because you didn’t trust me?”

“Because it wasn’t safe! I was unstable, and then I was a fugitive, I wasn’t going to jeopardize everything you had just because I missed you!”

“Jeopardize what? The Avengers? Please. Or was it my shitty building in Bed-Stuy and my half-blind dog?!”

Coulson tilted his head, his expression going from hurt to angry.

“You can stop covering, Clint. I _know_ , okay? I’m not so jealous I would begrudge you the people in your life.”

“Is this a Captain America thing?”

Coulson’s voice went cool. “Tell me again, are you _sure_ you wouldn’t like to talk to _Laura_? Let her know you’re okay?”

Clint blinked. There was accusation in Coulson’s tone that didn’t make any sense.

“What? That’s the second time you’ve mentioned her. I don’t report to Laura!”

“You don’t think she’ll be worried about you?”

“Unless something was on CNN, I doubt she even knows. I just saw her a month ago.”

“A month? But, what about the baby?”

“Jesus, Coulson. What do you even know about it?”

“I run a spy organization, I know things. I just don’t understand why you don’t want to talk to your wife or even ask about your own child!”

“My…?” Clint ran both hands through his hair and pulled.

Oh. Coulson, his old friend, would have understood the nuance, but whatever his sources now, this Coulson was being mean and defensive but already looking a little sorry for it. He didn’t have the full story.

Clint closed his eyes and rubbed the heel of his palm over his eyebrows. They had got along, Coulson and Laura. They were both gracious, and patient, and strong enough all on their own that Clint making a mess of his life didn’t bring them down. Coulson helped him settle Laura and the babies on the farm when her first husband died. 

“Your sources are slipping, Coulson.” Clint didn’t have any more fight left in him. “Me and Laura aren’t together.”

“You’re…? But the…?”

“The baby is complicated. But it’s not like that, we’re not —I don’t want to get into this now. You’re the one who’s got explaining to do!”

“I know. Alright?” Coulson nodded. “I apologize for presuming incorrectly. But it is part of the reason I didn’t reach out. Please believe that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off…”

Clint shook his head. 

“How could I be? You were one of my best friends. I thought we were. It seemed like we...” He didn’t know how to say it. There had been flirting. Definitely flirting, in New Mexico. Coulson was the unit commander but he paid Clint extra care and attention.

“You weren’t wrong.” Coulson looked away, scratching at his forehead where the earlier bruise had formed a drying scrape. He looked back at Clint with a sad little smile. “My flirting was as overt as I knew how to be.”

“Yeah. And it was mutual. You let me get away with anything. I was your favorite, admit it.”

“I let you get away with anything because you were the top of your field, and still are. Being my favorite had nothing to do with it.”

They had been so close to moving forward with whatever was developing between them. But they’d been so dumb and had no idea how fast the world was about to change. Didn’t realize time was running out.

“The last time I saw you was on the floor at P.E.G.A.S.U.S. during the evacuation,” Clint told him.

“Most of that time is a blurred mess in my head. But I remember you, up on your observation perch.” Coulson smiled.

Clint remembered that, too. Doctor Selvig didn’t like Phil very much, so he usually stayed out of the lab, but he remembered Phil that day, looking up at him, silently checking in. Clint had saluted, and Phil had nodded, and then he’d never seen him again.

“Natasha told me you were stabbed through the heart. I saw your blood on the wall. Was it fake?”

Coulson shook his head. “That was very real. It was awful.”

“I’m sorry, man, but I just. I kinda don’t believe you, right now. You look pretty damn good for a dead guy.” Clint rubbed his eyes. “Everything is so messed up.”

He was so tired. He just wanted to press a pause button on life and go to bed for about ten years and then maybe he’d feel adult enough to deal with this.

“I guess I can’t blame you for that.”

Coulson stood up a little straighter with a new resigned look on his face. He took off his heavy black coat and tossed it into a chair, keeping eye contact with Clint as he untucked his long-sleeved undershirt. 

Clint raised his eyebrows and felt his heartbeat tick up. He understood this wasn’t meant to be an arousing display, but Clint’s lizard-brain didn’t know that. Except then Coulson hesitated and turned his back to Clint.

Clint took a step closer, which put Coulson’s silhouette in front of the sunlit window when he pulled the shirt off over his head.

Coulson had a fit, athletic build, his shoulders and arms curved with definition but his frame was maybe slightly smaller than Clint’s muscular bulk. That was all the admiration Clint was afforded by the time his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw the dark scar raised and gnarled to the left of his spine.

“Jesus.” His voice cracked with emotion. “ _Phil_.”

Coulson looked over his left shoulder, his eyebrows pinched.

Clint moved closer, reached out, and slowly put his hand over the scar. Coulson took a startled breath but he pressed back into Clint’s hand.

Clint knew scars. He knew the difference between field-dressed wounds and planned surgeries. He knew when there’d been infection that delayed healing or when a plastic surgeon only left the finest line.

This definitely wasn’t fake, and it had hurt very badly. 

Coulson slowly turned around but Clint kept his right hand on his back, so that he was nearly hugging him he was so close.

He couldn’t keep from making a pained noise when he saw the scar on Coulson’s chest. He had no right, he knew, to express how painful it was for him to see what Loki had done, but it broke his heart anyway.

Coulson was a field agent, he was plenty tough when he had to be, but he’d always had a gentleness to him. Beating around a schmuck like Clint wouldn’t affect much. He was a utility.

But Coulson was a class act. He should be handled with care.

Clint put his left hand on his chest, so both hands were holding Coulson, front and back, as though he could hold together the ghost of his injury.

“He really fucked us up, didn’t he?” Clint didn’t even like to say Loki’s name. It was shameful to still be scared of him.

Phil winced and leaned close, his forehead just a space away from Clint’s. “I’m sorry he took you. I went right after him, it was stupid, I know that now, but I tried so hard to get you back.”

Clint shook his head, pulled Coulson minutely closer. “Don’t. I don’t want to think about that. Thor says he died.”

Coulson nodded. His shirt was still bunched around his wrists and he fiddled with extra cloth.

“Does it hurt?”

Coulson sorta scrunched his lips and then shook his head. “Not anymore. It’s just ugly.”

“The hell it is.”

Clint pressed both hands to Coulson’s warm skin, felt his chest expanding with breath and the hint of his heartbeat underneath. He had soft dark hair on his chest and Clint moved his thumb to thrasp through it. He was so _alive_.

Coulson exhaled and finally glanced up to Clint’s eyes, and then away, and then looked back, a failing smile that looked embarrassed. 

“You think it’s too late for us?” Coulson said. “It’s not unprecedented, right? Soldiers and agents, come home after years away in service. They manage to reconnect relationships. Move forward again?”

Clint nodded and for the first time since he was inside that stupid freezer, felt that he had some amount of power, and a little bit like Coulson needed him to be brave right now.

He touched his nose to Coulson’s, and checked his eyes one more time before leaning in. 

Coulson pressed forward and met him in a careful kiss. Clint pulled him closer, pressing both hands into his skin, wanting so badly to close all the time and distance between them.

It wasn’t fair! Their first kiss was always going to be dirty-hot, full of quips and innuendo, maybe charged with adrenaline after a good fight, tugging at each other’s clothes with big hands, sloppy and sweaty in all the ways sex with a man was so different, good-but-not-better, than it is with a woman. 

But this was tender, kinda hurtful and sad, and okay fine, it was still kinda sexy, with the way they were feeling raw and vulnerable. 

There were a lot of emotions happening all at one time again. 

Clint pulled away. He was used to kissing being a precursor to fucking, but that wasn’t happening right now. They were too drained, physically and emotionally. Clint wanted to keep being close and hold Coulson some more but he wasn’t even hard. He was out of his depth with whatever this moment was.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said. “You’ve been through so much and this turned into me being—”

“Shut up, sir. There’s plenty of hurtin’ to go around for all of us.” Seemed like everyone he knew had a tragic story. Clint’s was nothing special compared to what others had to live with.

Coulson smirked and shivered, goosebumps running up his arms.

“Aw, you’re cold. Here, let’s keep you warm.” Clint reached for the material of Coulson’s shirt, still gathered and bunched on his wrists. Coulson raised both arms overhead and Clint pulled, only getting it to his ribs, before Coulson’s reached out and hugged him.

“I’m not cold.”

Clint nodded, hugging back just as tightly. “What do we do now?” 

There was a knock and then the door opened immediately.

Clint stepped back and Coulson quickly tugged his shirt the rest of the way down. Clint didn’t think they needed to act like busted teenagers, but he was sure they looked like it anyway.

“It’s ‘knock and wait’, Skye, not ‘knock and enter’,” Coulson snapped.

“Sorry. I was juggling all this food I bought you.” Daisy was holding a paper bag and little flimsy drink holder, which she set on a little table. “Because I’m so nice. No, no need to thank me.” She was smiling to herself, as though she hadn’t seen them but Clint knew a bad actor when he saw one.

Coulson was subtly straightening himself, wiping at his mouth and righting his shirt, but he wasn’t aware that his hair was floofed up. 

Daisy stood and deliberately didn't look up at Coulson's head, biting down a smirk that rivaled Natasha’s.

Clint rolled his eyes. He knew it would be damning but he couldn’t let Coulson stand there with stuck-up hair, so he reached out and brushed his hand over Coulson’s head.

Coulson closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders.

Daisy almost laughed but put her hand over her mouth. 

“Just wanted to let you know that everything’s good, boss. People checked in. Things are going, you know, how they should go. For a change. So take your time. We got this.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. And really. Take your time. There’s no need to rush anything, kids.”

“ _Agent Johnson._.”

“I’m going!”

Clint couldn’t help chuckling under his breath.

“Hey, who’s Skye?” he asked, when Daisy shut the door behind her.

“What?”

“You called Daisy ‘Skye’.”

“Did I? Damn. I thought I stopped doing that. That was her name when I first met her.”

“Well, I guess that’s another story I need to hear.”

 

~

 

Clint woke up in silence, as usual now, no thanks to the Clown, but unlike the day before, when he was trapped inside a freezer, this morning he was warm and comfortable. He was surrounded by the smell of Coulson’s sheets and clothes but could sense that he was alone in the bed. 

Clint opened his eyes and rolled forward enough he could see Coulson sitting in a rolling desk chair across the room. He was holding a tablet in one hand and talking at it, though Clint couldn’t hear his voice. 

The hearing aids Coulson had so carefully positioned into place for him yesterday, were within easy reach where he’d left them on the night table. 

Coulson had kept the room dim, but there was a single shaft of mid-morning sunlight coming in the high window and lighting the brick wall above the bed. 

Coulson didn’t break his conversation, but imperceptibly angled his head, acknowledging that he knew Clint was awake.

Clint grinned. Coulson was such a spy.

A spy who apparently didn’t wear pants during conference calls.

Clint chuckled, feeling it low and gravelly in his throat, aware that he didn’t know how loud he was being. Coulson, keeping his expression composed, swatted the air at him, out of sight of his tablet screen, so Clint must have been too loud.

He muffled another laugh into the pillow and then quieted himself. Coulson’s hair was combed and he’d shaved. He wore nice blue-grey polo style shirt with a jacket, and just, no pants at all.

Clint wanted to laugh again, but pinched and rubbed at his nose instead. 

He needed to get up and pee, so he sat up, stretched and yawned, and smelled himself. He felt kinda bad for stinking up Coulson’s bed, but he hadn’t had the energy to shower last night and then fell asleep while they’d talked. He assumed Coulson had slept on the bed next to him and he was sorry he’d missed that.

As he passed Coulson on his way to the bathroom, Coulson slowly rotated his chair 180 degrees, so that Clint remained out of view. Coulson looked up at him, so he purposely tilted his head and took a gander at Coulson’s legs, bare but for his black socks and the legs of his boxer briefs, and then back up.

Coulson shook his head, looking ever so Director-some to the other side of the conference call, but Clint knew the look of concealed Coulson-amusement.

The bathroom wasn’t very big, still reflecting the original post-war SSR architecture, but it had been remodeled and was very clean. The mirror was clear and shower had mostly dried so Coulson must have been up for a few hours. 

Clint looked back out at him. Coulson was _alive_ , and they’d kissed last night, and caught up as much as they could until Clint fell asleep, and then he’d stayed close-by this morning so Clint wouldn’t wake up alone. 

He was grinning when he pushed the door half-way shut so as not to be rude while he used the bathroom.

The shower ran hot and strong over Clint as he rotated his neck from side to side. He felt some tension drain out of him, but it wasn’t just in his muscles. There was this clawed up bit of guilt and sorrow in him that had become a normal part of his emotional gut. He was still angry for what he’d been through, for what Coulson had been through, and he knew you couldn’t instantly undo real hurts. 

But he felt like it was finally possible to move forward.

Clint grabbed the bar of soap and replayed their conversation from the night before…

 

“Hey, come with me,” Coulson said, and tugged gently on Clint’s wrist to follow him. They grabbed up the food and drinks that Daisy had brought and he followed Coulson out of his office and into another room. This was smaller, not as messy as Clint’s apartment maybe, but there were some clothes on the floor, the bed was unmade, and there was a chair and a small desk stacked with books and papers. There was a glass case of collectibles, which was the neatest thing in the room.

Coulson yanked at the edges of the bed cover until it was somewhat smooth, and then they sat facing each other, laying out their food between them like a picnic lunch. Clint tore the paper away from one of the sandwiches and bit into it. He tried to chew slowly, moaning as he did, knowing his body needed to adjust to food.

“Okay,” Coulson said. “We have a lot to catch up on, and I’m sure it’s all complicated.” 

He carefully unwrapped his sandwich and licked a smear of mayo off his thumb. “But I doubt either of us wants to spend another three years re-hashing three year’s worth of events. So, I suggest a brief AAR?”

Clint nodded. Framing this as an After Action Report might actually reduce the chance of having too many feelings at one time, again. 

“Okay,” he said, through a mouthful. “You go first.” He took a drink, expecting soda so when it turned out to be iced tea, he winced. 

Coulson nodded, taking Clint’s bitter expression as frustration at him. Clint didn’t bother to clarify. 

“Sure. That’s fair.” 

“You said it was alien. As in like, what? Asgardian?” Clint asked, then had a thought and sat upright at the kick of betrayal he felt. “Shit, are you gonna tell me Thor was in on it this whole time? And he never said?”

“No, no. Something else. It was Kree?” Coulson looked for some recognition from Clint. He’d heard of the race, from Thor, so he nodded.

“Right, so I was given a serum made from a Kree corpse that SHIELD had in possession. But the regeneration also caused mental deterioration, so I had my memory wiped of all connection and a false memory of recovery was planted.”

Clint thought about that for a moment and swallowed his bite.

“So you didn’t even know you died?”

“No, I knew I’d died, but they’d planted a code phrase in my head so whenever I thought about it or discussed it, I’d just remember a happy, but fake, memory, and then move on without questioning it.”

Clint had been starving and very much enjoying his sandwich but he had to swallow with difficulty at this. Thinking of put together Agent Coulson suffering the indignity of brainwashing, going about his life and unknowingly reacting with a puppeted smile, doing as he was programmed to do, never questioning the circumstances of his own death. 

“Jesus. I thought you and Fury were friends. That was a colossally shitty thing to do.”

Coulson shrugged one shoulder, but smiled a little at Clint taking his side. “Yeah. It kind of was. But, then again, I’m alive right? And then he believed in me enough to make me Director...”

Coulson picked a thick bit of lettuce out of his sandwich and dropped it on the deli paper.

“But, the thing is, and it’s ridiculous, but it’s still uncomfortable to talk about. I don’t like saying it.”

“Saying...what?” Clint asked, and winced. “Sorry. You just said you didn’t want to say it, but I don’t know what _it_ is.”

Phil grinned, but it was sad and wasn’t in his eyes at all. 

“The trigger phrase,” he said.

Clint understood that. He was still holding a portion of sandwich, but he still formed the index fingers of both hands into number ones and then rotated them in an alternating circles. 

_Sign language?_ he asked.

Phil looked at Clint’s hands, and then at his eyes with a tired smile. Then he held up a hand and fingerspelled _T.A.H.I.T.I._. 

Clint silently mouthed the word as he interpreted the sign, but Coulson went ahead a spoke the word aloud himself, because he was always brave in the face of things that scared him.

“Tahiti. Yeah. I’ve actually avoided the entire South Pacific altogether, since then. How foolish is that?” 

“Are you kidding me? I can’t even—all the Avengers actually, have a crazy clown car full of issues. I mean come on, Stark? Major anxieties. Banner? Do I even have to mention? Natasha. Wanda. Christ, we’re still working out everything that sets off Barnes. No way, man. You can’t go through the shit we have, and come out clean. If you need to keep avoiding a tropical island, you go right ahead.”

“Well. Thank you.” Coulson fixed a very careful expression on his face. “Can I ask you something now?”

Clint was chewing a bite but nodded for him to go ahead.

“Explain about the baby?”

Clint knew that was coming and found he didn’t mind so much. He pictured the kid in question and smiled as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His stomach gurgled loudly as the food hit and he knew he needed to take a break to digest anyway.

“Nathaniel.” He had the tiniest fingernails, and a furious little pissed off cry if his arms were swaddled. “You know, for Nat?” Clint clarified, and then saw that Coulson was putting on his brave face. 

“I spent time at Laura’s after ...Loki. And the Chitauri. And losing _you_. I needed to get out of the city. It was good with them. Everyone is honest. You know, kids get unhappy, they let you know _exactly_ what they don’t like, no spying or politics. And plenty of work to do around the place. The kids know I’m not their bio dad, but they know me and their mom are close. And they know I love them a ton.”

“You’ve always been good with those kids.”

“Well.” Clint shrugged, but he was too proud of them to deny that. “And you know me and Laura...” 

Clint looked away from Coulson. He and Laura had been on again, off again, since they were teenagers, and then again after her husband had died, which is when Coulson had met her. He glanced at Coulson who had nothing but understanding in his eyes. 

He couldn’t think of the right spoken words for what he had with her. It was never just sex, but friends-with-benefits seemed immature and Laura was respectable, even if Clint wasn’t. He almost started to make the sign for ‘fucking’, forming a V with both hands, but then stopped himself. 

“You get what I mean, right?” he asked. 

Phil raised an eyebrow at Clint’s hands, but nodded. “Sure. Of course. I think you’ve loved each other a long time, which is why casual intimacy is so comfortable between you.”

“Totally. But not like that. Not like, ‘let’s all live on a farm together, forever’. Nah. I don’t want that and neither does she.”

“If you say so.”

“No seriously. Okay, she loves babies, right? She likes being a mom, she’s good at it. Thing is, she’s always joked that she wanted more kids, only if she didn’t have to complicate her life with a having a man around to do it. When she straight up asked if I’d help her have another baby, I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Coulson shook his head with amusement.

Clint looked at him, trying to figure out what he meant by that.

“Of course, you’d give your very DNA if someone asked,” Coulson said.

“Well, not just anyone. But Laura, yeah. So, I’m the donor-dad.” Clint shrugged. “And kinda like an uncle, maybe? But I’m not _Dad_ -dad. The baby is Laura’s.”

Coulson had a pinched line between his brows and Clint was afraid to hear some kind of ugly judgement about Laura choosing to be a single parent, or Clint choosing to give her his swimmers. He had no use for his sperm, it was going to waste otherwise. It was practically _conservation_ , when you thought about it, smart use of resources, but then he realized there probably wasn’t a shortage of sperm in the world and he felt like maybe that would distract from the conversation, so he didn’t mention it.

“When SHIELD collapsed, those of us left, we were in pretty bad shape. Agents all around the world were left in the open. Stranded. On the Run. Didn’t know who to trust. And suddenly I was responsible for all of them. Not just our people either, but for the population at large that was still at risk, from things they didn’t even know about.”

“Okay, I know this is a laugh coming from me,” Clint said. “But you could have asked for help? From the Avengers? I would have, anyway.”

“That’s what I’m getting at. We couldn’t risk it. Hydra factions were still on the inside. The Feds had the military after us. Public opinion didn’t differentiate between SHIELD and Hydra, and as far as I knew, you had a family, Clint. I was so happy for you! And, because you were an Avenger, you were safe from persecution as a SHIELD agent. I wasn’t going to drag you down. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Clint wanted to say something but Coulson pressed on.

“Mom was already gone. Everyone had moved on by then. Which is what should happen. I just thought it was better for everyone. Safer.”

“Well you were missed. By everyone. Me and Natasha even went to see Audrey in Portland. To make sure she knew.”

“That was you? Thank you.”

“Wait, did you know? Have you seen her?”

“Daniels went after her again, after Hydra let him loose. My team worked with her directly, I never made contact. I know she’d loved me once, but she never wanted to be a part of this. She hoped I might retire, and I can’t deny I thought about it, but that’s not going to happen and I respect her choice, too.”

“You’re such a self-sacrificing jerk,” Clint said, without any heat to it. He admired it, really. “Let yourself be happy for once.”

“You’re one to talk.” He sort of had a point. Clint wasn’t exactly the happiness master. “I’m not _unhappy_ , exactly,” Coulson continued. “I like my life. Awful things happen sometimes, but I’d never choose to walk away from it. It’s who I am.”

“No, I know. I wasn’t. I didn’t mean.” Clint huffed and tried to gather his thoughts. “I know you’re a lifer. But you deserve good things too. That’s all.”

Coulson look down, a little smile playing on the corner of his mouth, and he glanced back up at Clint. 

“Thank you.”

Clint got caught up just looking at Coulson. It was odd that he still felt the aching hole in his heart from Coulson’s death but was also so happy to find him again. He was afraid this was going to turn out to be some kind of hallucination. Because if he were still trapped in that box, miserable and slowly going mad, he’d totally dream about Coulson rescuing him. 

“I need to ask you something,” Phil said, his hesitance obvious and Clint sat up, paying attention.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“I need to know to what your intentions are.”

Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Not about us—not personally. I’m asking as Director. I saw your signal to Barnes.” Coulson tilted his head at Clint’s ear, referring to the tug he’d made during the call. “And Captain Rogers was unsubtle about expecting a report from you about operations here.”

“You think I’d dime you out?”

“I think it’s reasonable that you’re loyal to your team. As you should be.”

“Dude. I know how to report to the boss and not really say anything.”

“Well, I know that much is true. I’ve received your vague reports before.”

Coulson pressed a finger to his forehead. The cut had been cleaned but the bump was still swollen and if he didn’t have a headache already, Clint figured this conversation might cause one.

Clint shrugged and pulled a long face. _Whatever_ , he signed with a flutter of his hands, fingers flicking over each other.

“Look, Barnes worries, that’s all,” Clint said. “He sees conspiracies in everything, and he’s not usually wrong. I was just signalling to let him know I really am okay and not being coerced to lie about it.”

“I can appreciate that,” Coulson said, looking at Clint almost long enough that Clint worried. “It’s incredible to me that you are actually friends with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. That they are both alive in the world.”

“Yeah, talk about heartbreaking. Those two win the misery Olympics.”

“So tragic. But, almost poetic that they found each other again.”

“That’s a good word for it. A really sick, messed up poem. I can’t decide if it’d all be better or worse to find out they’re fucking.”

“Are they?” Coulson sat up, his hand flapped and clutched at his heart for just a second, before composing himself.

“Don’t know. I’m not about to ask,” Clint said, but then considered Barnes’ tendency for blunt honesty. “Actually, I probably could?”

“No, don’t. Imagine how awkward that would be, regardless of the answer. You know, I wrote a paper about their relationship in college. I don’t actually need my theories proven.”

Clint remembered Coulson’s nerdy queer-theories. He was always so academic about things like that, but actually, it had helped Clint understand himself better. 

“You going to want more?” Coulson asked, as he began to gather and clear away the trash from their meal.

“No.” Clint put a hand to his stomach and Clint slumped further down onto the pillow, with a small burp and a sigh. “You get pizza out here?”

“Not delivery, no. There’s frozen in the mess, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Clint shook his head. He wasn’t really hungry, his shrunken stomach couldn’t take much, but he always liked to consider where his next pizza might come from.

“You should sleep,” Coulson said, and Clint startled to find Coulson right up next to him. He realized he must have drifted asleep for a few seconds.

“I can go and let you—”

“No. Don’t wanna. Keep talking.” He tried to boost himself back upright and flailed his arm a little and their hands collided. “I want to know more.” He squeezed Coulson’s hand. “Tell me about Daisy.”

“Oh. Alright.” Coulson continued holding his hand, and shifted himself so he slumped down against the pillows, too, facing Clint. “Her name was Skye then. She chose it, if that tells you anything about her. She’s extremely talented hacker. A ‘hacktivist.’ Investigating SHIELD and un-earthly phenomena. A genuine do-gooder, right down to her bleeding heart.”

“You’re one to talk,” Clint said, repeating Coulson’s earlier words back at him.

Coulson smirked, and didn’t deny it.

“And she was young and on her own, and taken in by a misguided group that had no idea what they were getting into.”

“Hm, I feel like I’ve heard this story before…”

Coulson squeezed his hand and huffed at Clint, but he continued holding on, thumb gliding over Clint’s knuckle.

“So, I arrested her, and then I hired her.”

“Ha!” Clint laughed. “Of course you did.”

“It was purely tactical.”

“Sure.”

“Her skills made her an asset. You know how I always want the best.”

He gave Clint a pointed look, and Clint understood that Coulson meant him.

Clint listened, feeling his limbs get heavier, feeling more content as he watched Coulson recount what he and his team had been through. The common thread through it all was the connection between Coulson and Daisy. As he discussed her, his expressions ranged from absolute exasperation to a wistful, almost heartbroken smile.

“Naturally, I cared about her well being like I do all my agents. But along the way I realized I also cared very much about her _life_. That she knew she had value beyond her abilities. I won’t deny that what I’d gone through left me in a vulnerable place, but she cared about me too. It was never her job to worry about me, but she never saw me as just her boss. I don’t know why.” 

Coulson shook his head. “But I do know I’d do anything to keep her safe. God help anyone who hurts her.”

Clint had been watching him talk, with glossy eyes and a building twist in his gut.

“Holy crap,” Clint muttered into his palm, and he scrubbed at tired eyes. “On top of everything else, you’ve become Hot Dad, too!”

“I am _not_.”

Clint laughed, giggled more-like, and then he couldn’t stop himself. He reached out with the hand not holding Coulson’s, and touched his shirt.

“You _are_ , though! Hot Dad with a shotgun, or however that stupid thing goes.”

Coulson let out a quiet laugh too, and shook his head some more. 

“I think you’re giddy. You’re so tired you’re almost delirious. Clint, you need to sleep.”

“I know. I know.” Clint agreed, his eyes were already shut and was barely able to open them again. “Hey, that thing happened earlier, that actually happened, right?” 

“Between us, you mean?”

“Hm-mm.” Clint nodded, peering one eye open to look at him again.

“When we kissed, and agreed that maybe it wasn’t too late for us?”

“Mm.”

“Yes, that really happened,” Coulson said. His voice had gone all warm and steady.

Clint felt himself drifting off and he squeezed Coulson’s hand.

“Stick around?”

“I won’t go anywhere. It’s okay to sleep.”

Clint wished he could fall asleep listening to Coulson’s voice but his ears needed to rest and breathe without the hearing aids, and they’d likely amplify something that would needlessly wake him up anyway.

He let out a grumpy sigh and reached up to remove one, and Coulson removed the other for him. Clint let his weight fall heavily into the pillow while Coulson took both hearing aids and pressed close into Clint’s space, as he reached past him to set the devices on the table. 

He felt a kiss pressed to his temple…

 

Clint used Coulson’s razor to shave, when he got out of the shower, but he found a stash of new toothbrushes under the sink. 

When he came out of the bathroom, Coulson was no longer in the video call. He was also wearing pants and putting on his shoes.

 _Good morning_ , Coulson signed, and indicated that the hearing aids were still by the bed.

He felt Coulson’s eyes on him but his priority was to get his hearing aids in. He admired the devices as he placed them easily. They were superior quality, as comfortable as they could be and gave no feedback. Once set, he snapped the fingers of both hands _one-two-three one-two-three_ and mentally adjusted to the sound and distance. Good.

Droplets of water from his still-damp hair slid down his neck and he didn’t want to risk damaging the hearing aids so he tugged the towel from around his waist to wipe at the hair by his ears again. 

The sense that he wasn’t just not-hearing, but that the room was actually silent, made him hyper aware of the fact that he was standing there totally naked in front of Coulson. He looked over to see him pink in the face and trying to look as casual as any queer guy in any locker room has ever tried to look.

Clint shifted the towel in front of him so his dick was somewhat covered.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Coulson said. “You look like you’re feeling okay. Ah. I was gonna get us some coffee? And.”

Coulson gave him a very deliberate look in the eyes and did not let his eyes stray over Clint’s body at all.

“Coffee sounds great. Hey, uh, thanks for uh…”

Coulson paused near the door, still specifically only looking at his face. Clint felt a waterdrop trickle down his chest and he swiped it, his finger rubbing over his nipple as he did so.

That muscle in Coulson’s jaw flexed.

“...thanks for, well, you’ve been up for a while and you never went for coffee?”

“I didn’t want to leave.” Coulson’s eyes strayed to Clint’s finger on his chest but popped right back up to Clint’s face. “I said I wouldn’t.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to actually, but thanks.”

Clint wanted to touch him. Just a hug, he thought. Maybe a kiss. He hadn’t intended to be all _naked_ about it, but he didn’t particularly mind if Coulson wanted to look either. 

No, actually, he _liked_ that maybe Coulson wanted to look at him. And he liked Coulson trying to be all gentlemanly about it, too.

Clint walked closer, dropping the towel by his feet, knowing as he did so, that it seemed like he was actually daring Coulson to look at him. 

Coulson stood planted and returned his challenging look, letting Clint press right up close, his body just barely brushing against Coulson’s clothes.

“I don’t mind if you look,” Clint said, right against Coulson’s lips. 

“Prac— _erhem_!” Coulson had to clear his throat. It was adorable, and Clint bit his lip trying not to smile. “Practically speaking, you don’t have any choice about being naked since you don’t have any clothes here, and I was waiting for you to put on your hearing aids before pointing out that you could wear anything of mine in the wardrobe, but then you—”

Clint kissed him. Coulson didn’t shy from it either. He opened to the kiss, against Clint’s lips and into the press of his tongue, but he kept his body fixed and his hands at his sides.

“You can look _and_ touch. In case you wanted me to clarify,” Clint said between kisses.

“Just, hm, wasn’t expecting...” Coulson’s eyes skittered down Clint’s body and then back up “...this.”

Clint paused, because maybe he wasn’t shy but he could be a gentleman too. “This too fast? Sorry. If you’re not—”

“No. I am.” 

Coulson settled his thumbs on Clint’s hips and looked down between them, and Clint’s cock began to rise at the attention. 

Coulson closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Clint’s. 

“I’ve just been telling myself that you were physically exhausted. Emotionally compromised. I didn’t want to take advantage.”

“Man, this is has just been another hard knock week in the life of Clint Barton. I can’t tell you how much I’m not looking forward to next week.”

“What’s next week?”

“I’ve got no idea, but odds are it’s gonna be crap. So if it’s all the same to you, I want to enjoy something good while I can. I know it seems like it’s too soon, but really when you think about it, it’s—”

“—it’s years overdue.” Coulson finished for him. “I completely agree.

Coulson confirmed his agreement by cupping a hand on his ass and pulling him close.

Clint smiled into their kiss, feeling Coulson use his right hand to glide down Clint’s back to his ass, and then up to his chest, sliding over his nipple, his ribs, and playing in the grooves of his abs.

Coulson made needy, breathless sounds. Clint’s skin was tight with the tingling of pleasure-nerves. He reached for Coulson’s hand, still splayed over his belly button and lower abs, and he guided Coulson’s hand down to his cock.

There was no hesitation in the grip he used to take ahold of Clint. He pulled up, squeezing the first drops out wetness from him, making Clint startle and curse as he rubbed it over the head.

“Gorgeous,” Coulson muttered.

Clint arched into Coulson hand, pressing close. He skimmed his hands up and down Coulson’s body, feeling his beating heart, the strength of his arms, and his cock rising thick inside his pants. Touching him through his clothes was exciting in itself. More than that, it was satisfyingly dirty, to be naked and exposed while Coulson was all wrapped up.

He opened Coulson’s pants, keeping him mostly done up, while untrapping his cock and stroking him.

“Jeez-us,” Clint groaned, lit up between having Coulson’s generous cock in his hand, to Coulson’s strong hand on his own. 

“I’d like to propose that,” Coulson said, gasping and arching his head so Clint could suck on his neck, all while still jerking Clint off. “That if this encounter concludes quickly that it’s a result of our combined, considerable skillsets, and not from any personal failing in stamina?”

Clint sniggered against his neck. “Works for me.” He said, barely able to make his lips pucker kisses because he was smiling so big. “’M so turned on. Not gonna last.”

Coulson bowed forward and trembled, getting close, Clint thought, trying to read his body cues while his own was quickening. 

“This is gonna change everything,” Coulson said, in a soft voice.

“Promise?”

They were, as it happened, both considerably skilled and very efficient in achieving their goals. Clint stood solid as Coulson clung to him when he went soft in the knees, coming by Clint’s hand. Clint even cupped his other hand to catch the release, so Coulson’s clothes wouldn’t get sticky.

Clint lifted one knee, getting some pressure against his balls from Coulson’s thigh, which was all he needed to come with a whine.

Clint picked up his towel, to wipe off their hands and swipe at his stomach while Coulson arranged himself again. They hovered close together, still gripping at each other, exchanging kisses in a greedy, clingy kind of way, and their heart rates finally settled when were simply hugging each other, heart to heart. 

“I feel a little guilty saying this,” Coulson said in a low voice right near Clint’s ear. “But I am so happy right now. I shouldn’t dare, I know, but Clint, I’m so happy. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_. Like, goddam, I can barely believe you’re really here. I missed you so fucking much.”

“Me, too.” Coulson squeezed him even tighter. “I’m so sorry. I’ll regret it forever, but I’m so glad you’re here now.”

Clint nodded. 

“We can figure out to make this work, right? I promise not to screw it up. You promise not to die.”

“Mission goals.” Coulson agreed. “I want to try. So hard.”

“Okay.”

“You still want coffee?”

“ _Coffee_ ,” Clint groaned, and he felt Coulson’s stomach shake with a silent laugh. He took a tiny step back and watched Coulson’s eyes rake down his body and back up.

“Yeah?” Clint asked, an obvious flirt, enjoying the dark, hungry look in Coulson’s eyes.

“Yeah.” He nodded, but the look changed when his eyes quickly darted back up to Clint’s. “Yes, I think you’re absolutely beautiful.” He put one hand on Clint’s cheek and the other over his heart, and pressed his head close. “But it’s you. All of you.”

Clint kissed him again, quick and sweet, pulling away a little, feeling embarrassed. Not embarrassed at all about his complete nakedness while Coulson was completely dressed, but from the strength of Coulson’s raw feelings.

“Okay. Coffee,” Coulson said.

He stepped away, deliberately not looking at Clint. He ran his hands over his hair, straightened the cuffs of his sleeves, and even very discreetly, adjusted how he was situated in his pants. Clint watched the indiscernible layer of class and authority encase his demeanor. He was the Director of SHIELD through and through.

“Clothes in the wardrobe,” Coulson said, his voice deeper, and only glancing at Clint, gesturing with his prosthetic hand. Only then did Clint remember that Coulson had been grab-assing him with it, and actually, it had felt pretty good. 

He felt a twinge of guilt for not remembering sooner and hoped it hadn’t been difficult for Coulson. Clint wondered if he should have been more sensitive about sexing with a prosthetic limb.

“Next time,” he said quickly, before Coulson could open the door. “Next time, can be slow. And in a bed. Or someplace? And like, take our time? This was good. Great, actually, it was sort of a fantasy of mine for years.” Seduce his fully-clothed boss? Hell yeah. “But next time, even better, okay?”

Phil smiled over his shoulder. “Okay.”

Clint sang to himself while he searched for clothes. There were all manner of nerdy t-shirts, but Clint got a kick out of finding a Heroes of New York shirt wasn’t just of the famous four, but one where he and Nat were featured in equal prominence as the others. 

Coulson also had several styles of underwear to choose from, making Clint wonder if there were rules about underwear that he didn’t know about, beyond ‘non-chafing’ and ‘sack support.’ 

The jeans were too small, but the casual duty cargos were an adjustable fit, and a ribbed turtleneck sweater was standard issue as well. He could still wear his Hawkeye sneakers.

Then he wondered if it was weird that he was holed up in the Director’s sleeping quarters. They were legitimately old friends, and he had just been kidnapped, so surely they were cool, if Coulson was worried about appearances. Clint didn’t remember him being closeted about his queerness, but he was modest, and the not-knowing about Coulson nowadays made Clint uncomfortable.

He decided not to stay put and wait for Coulson to bring him coffee. He probably had work to do. He had an important job, and maybe he needed to Clint to be self-sufficient and not compromise his professionalism.

Clint cracked the door and listened, then he followed the voices and the smell of coffee brewing. 

He knew the base had a full size commissary and mess hall, but he found a little hallway that ended in a small kitchen. There had been an indistinguishable chatter ahead, but Clint stopped short when he realized he was hearing Coulson’s voice, enthusiastic and pitchy, and Clint automatically stopped to listen and assess the situation.

“—don’t care. Daisy! We’ve been through too much, waited for so long, and you know what? I love him. Okay? I love him. Maybe it _is_ crazy or too soon, but we’re adults and I love him! For the person I’ve always known him to be. For the person he is now. I just know this is—”

“—Good morning, Barton.”

Clint jumped at voice behind him, trying not to shout at having the crap scared out of him, and also knowing that he’d been made and Coulson and Daisy knew he’d been listening.

Then Clint realized who’d called him out.

“Melinda May.” There was no way to play this off, but casually, and if _he_ was reeling by what he’d just overheard, Coulson was probably mortified, and that was just a damn shame. “Damn it, woman, aren’t you gonna age along with the rest of us?”

She gave him an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, then turned to the side in a theatrically defensive posture, taking a step towards her. “I’m coming in for a hug, sister. Please don’t kick my ass.”

She honestly looked like she might kick his ass, until the last second, when she rolled her eyes and smiled and opened her arms to Clint’s hug. It was very formal at first, until he stood up, lifting her onto her toes, squeezing a squeak out of her.

“Stop it!” she hissed, giving him a little shove. “Behave. Go on.” She waved him ahead of her and into the kitchen. Clint took a breath and went.

Coulson’s back was turned, ostensibly preparing their coffees, and Daisy was standing next to him, giving Clint a huge fake smile.

“Hi. Clint. You said I can call you that, right? You look good. Better, I mean. Better today. Than yesterday...when...you were kidnapped. Um.” She glanced at Coulson, smiling bigger and almost standing between Clint and Coulson, like she could protect him.

“Thanks, Daisy. I feel a lot better, actually.”

It was pretty nice to not be the one who was embarrassed for a change, but he could see Coulson’s shoulders hunched up and his ears burning red and that wasn’t okay at all.

“Are you hungry?” Daisy asked. “There’s not as much here, as in the main hall. Unless you like pancakes?”

“I love pancakes. And I’m starving,” he said, and spotted a box of mix on the counter. “You know what? How about I cook for everyone?” 

May and Daisy exchanged cautious looks and then took seats at the table. Clint was thrilled to see that they cared so much about Coulson. He should have the best protection, and if Clint needed to meet their approval, he was happy for the challenge.

Clint slid up next to Coulson, one hand low on his back, the other hand over Coulson’s hand, white-knuckling a mug handle. 

“For me?” Clint said. “Thank you.” He pressed a slow, not-going-anywhere kind kiss to Coulson’s cheekbone. “My favorite,” he said softly, next to Coulson’s ear.

The tension in Coulson’s shoulders eased but his cheeks were still pink.

“You want some of my pancakes?” Clint asked, lowering his voice in a flirt, and winking. He took a sip of the coffee and none of them knew what a great spy he really was because he didn’t choke on it, being easily two-thirds cream and sugar.

Coulson let out a quiet laugh. “Yes, I would.”

Clint bent down a little, waiting for Coulson to finally meet his eyes. Clint needed him to know he was okay. Coulson had said he loved him and Clint wasn’t scared off by it. 

Maybe someday, eventually, they’d even tell each other directly.

But first. “Pancakes!”

~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment and kudos. <3
> 
> Title from the song by Elle King.
> 
> Many thanks to Elf 1 and Elf 2 for helping me tidy this up.


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